Behind the Curtain
by minachandler
Summary: Two missing scenes from 3x20. Felicity tries to come to terms with her feelings for Oliver as she goes back to his loft, ready to leave for Nanda Parbat. And when they're on the jet, they share confessions, a blanket and a much-needed drink.


The quiet whisper of voices greets Felicity as she approaches Oliver's loft, duffel bag in hand. Still smarting over the hurt she saw – that she _caused_ – on Ray's handsome face, she had returned to her apartment and discarded her usual business attire, selecting black jeans and a grey leather jacket instead. Her boots click loudly as she gets closer to the door, and she recognises John's voice, grimacing at the terseness she can hear. Then there is a scoff and a voice that clearly belongs to Merlyn, and she rolls her eyes. Sure enough, when she knocks on the door, Merlyn opens it.

She pushes past him defiantly, ignoring the way he looks at her with disdain. It's hard to believe that they were trying to take him down a mere two years ago. Now she has to be in the same room as him. She looks past him and attempts a smile at John, but it doesn't quite materialise on her face.

But she can still feel Merlyn's eyes on her and swivels round on her heel to face him, hands on her hips. "What?"

"As if this trip doesn't carry with it enough problems and risks," he mutters, and his voice is low but that doesn't stop John from rounding on him. "What exactly is the purpose of you coming, Miss Smoak?"

"She's bringing Thea back," John says shortly.

"I can bring her back to Starling. I'm her father."

"I'm coming," she says firmly, stepping forward and standing toe to toe with him. She's aware she's a good few inches shorter than him, but John is right behind her. "And if you were anything even resembling a father, she wouldn't be lying in a hospital bed right now practically dead, so go ahead, Merlyn. Try and stop me. But know that this is your fault."

Merlyn raises his eyebrows, and to her surprise, he steps back after a few moments.

"I thought so," she says, and after one final death glare, she turns to John. "How's Oliver?"

"He's barely said a word after you left," he replies, and she nods, sucking in a breath. She looks up at him, and he answers her unasked question, "His room."

Felicity nods again, and after dropping her duffel in a corner, she heads to Oliver's bedroom. She knocks gently on his door, which is slightly ajar, but there's no answer. For a moment, she hesitates, and then she decides to push it open.

Oliver is sitting on his bed, head in his hands. When the door opens, he looks up, and to her relief, something approaching a smile crosses his eyes - if not a smile then at least some warmth. It gratifies her that even now, she can at least elicit that slight change in his demeanour.

But he looks so alone, so broken, and his smile is wan. She wishes with all her heart that there was something she could do, say, to make things better, and in this moment, it truly hits her that John, her mother, even Ray, were right all along: Felicity is in love with Oliver, so much so that it hurts.

Well, she's always known it, deep down, but it was now that she feels a rush of emotions surface and for a moment it is impossible for her to speak.

"How are you holding up?" she asks at last, and she steps inside and shuts the door behind her. She's never been in here before. His room is nothing special, white walls and white sheets and a single set of drawers in the corner. The only thing that breaks the minimalist décor is the green cushion at the top of his bed, and it occurs to her that Thea probably got that for him once she found out her brother was the Arrow. Oliver definitely wouldn't be so obvious… although it makes her wonder, now, if that is necessarily true given he opened a club called Verdant. It feels strange being here, in his home, especially after seeing him live in the foundry for as long as he had before he moved into the loft.

"I'm fine," he says, even though his eyes so clearly belie his words. She doesn't question him, though, instead tentatively sitting beside him on his bed, and their legs briefly brush against each other as she does so.

"I got us the jet," she says after a moment.

"Tell Ray I owe him," Oliver says, and the gratitude in his voice is enough to bring back the feeling of guilt that she has been able to keep at bay this whole time.

This doesn't go unnoticed by Oliver - especially when she realises she is rubbing her forefinger and thumb together nervously.

"Everything okay?" he asks, and his tone is light, but she can tell from the look in his eyes that he is concerned. "Listen, if Ray doesn't want you to go because he needs you here, it's fine. Or if he feels we've involved him too much already and doesn't want a part in this so he doesn't want to give us his jet, I understand -"

"That's not it," she interrupts. "We can take it. It's fine."

He nods, as if accepting that she doesn't want to talk about it. But then she blurts it out anyway. "We broke up. I think."

His forehead creases a little. "What happened?"

"Someone came between us," she says simply, and to her surprise, he lets out what is supposed to be a chuckle, but when his lips upturn, the expression doesn't reach his eyes. "What?"

"Nothing. Just… Ray told me you said the same thing to him about - about us."

Felicity doesn't expect to hear that. "Different guy this time," she says, and she knows she's skirting around the subject - much in the same way he has done for months - but she knows now is neither the time nor place.

"Felicity, I -"

"Don't apologise," she cuts across him. Then she softens and can't help but take his hand. "Hey. This is about me. I made a choice, and so did he. And right now, we have bigger problems, so don't think for a second that I'm going to stay here and let you go to Nanda Parbat – again – without me."

"You're not going to take no for an answer, are you?" Oliver says.

"Absolutely not." She notices now that there is still a speck of blood on his neck, and without thinking, she licks her thumb of her free hand and rubs it away gently. He closes his eyes at her touch, and reluctantly, Felicity gets to her feet, still holding his hand when he gets does the same.

"I need to contact Laurel," he says.

"Are you going to tell her? About Thea, I mean?"

"It will only make her more worried," he says, "if she knows exactly what's happened to her. So I don't want to tell her everything – she loves Thea like a sister, and I know it'll just be more difficult for her. Especially because she has to watch over the city now I can't."

She knows he doesn't just mean that because the Arrow is supposed to be dead, but because of the offer he plans on accepting. Inwardly, she promises herself that she will find a way out for him, just like she has so many times before.

When they're on the jet, she's shivering from the chill of the air conditioning, which makes the curtain just behind Oliver flutter a little. He looks so lost, the pain in his eyes apparent as he confesses to her, of the drug dealer whose neck he snapped. The secrets that make up his mask disintegrate right before her eyes.

"All I've ever wanted to do is protect her. Malcolm told me… he warned me what Ra's might do, but I never thought… I failed."

She's seen him like this before – when his mother died, she remembers finding him kneeling at her grave, tears dripping from his cheeks; after Sara, she had found him taking everything out on a sparring dummy, his jaw peppered with stubble and sweat and tears – but this is different. Felicity knows why, too: this is Thea, his beloved baby sister whom he has always striven to protect and vowed to keep sheltered from every bad thing that exists in the world.

Oliver makes to place his head in his hands, but she is on her feet before she even realises what she is doing. When she hugs him, still standing and for once feeling like the taller of the two, Felicity can feel him stiffen for a second, but then his hands are light on the small of her back and his face is buried in her midriff. She hugs him back fiercely, her palm on his head, gently touching his hair, and she fights the tears welling up in her throat, too, when she feels him trembling beneath her.

Felicity wants to say something, but she doesn't know what. So she just holds him, shushing him even though he's barely making a sound, and hoping her touch is enough to soothe him.

And then the moment is over. His hands, which have been tightly gripping the back of her jacket, fall to his sides and he looks up at her, and it should be awkward or she should feel guilty or _something_ as she returns to her seat, but it isn't, and she doesn't.

"You haven't failed." The words are out of her mouth the moment she is able to find her voice again. He doesn't look convinced. "I've always loved the way you care for your sister," she says, and after she realises the implication of her words, her hand drops to her side. But she doesn't take it back. "Whatever's been going on in your life, you have always been there for her."

"Not this time," says Oliver, and his voice is still thick with unshed tears. "You know, when she was first born, I was only about ten at the time, but I can remember there were… complications. She was in an incubator for a month, and they weren't sure she was even going to make it. And I remember, even when I was just ten years old, that I couldn't get my head around the idea of losing her."

"You're not going to," she tells him. "She's going to be fine, Oliver. That's the whole point of us going, isn't it? Me, you, John and Malcolm?"

"He is her father," Oliver reasons, picking up on the distaste in her voice when she pronounces the last name, but she shakes her head.

"Oliver, you've been more of a father to Thea since Moira died than Malcolm ever has." Again, he doesn't look convinced. "I know you would lay down your life for her in a heartbeat."

"If only it were that simple," says Oliver, and the wistfulness in his voice makes something inside her break.

She shakes her head. "Just because you're willing to trade your life for hers doesn't mean that's the best option."

"It's the only option," he says, and she doesn't want to argue with him about this. Not now. Not when he's like this. She reaches out, touching his cheek. Oliver closes his eyes and leans towards her touch, and she can feel the wonderful prickle of stubble graze her skin.

"Thank you," he says, and Felicity raises her eyebrows.

"For what?"

And when he gently pulls her hand away from where she is still touching his jaw, she feels a little disappointed, but he is still leaning towards her, squeezing her fingers. "For making me think I'd grown as a person," he says, and when she recognises her own words, they share a smile. "Not just that, though. All those times Thea was in trouble, you've been there for her. You've helped me help her, protect her, even though you haven't had to. Even now. Especially now."

"I wanted to," she says. "Sure, we may not have talked much, but…" And here she hesitates. "She's your sister and she means the world to you. And I – you're important to me, so by extension, that means Thea is as well."

"I'm glad," he says, and his face is now only a couple of inches from hers. And once again, Oliver moves away, extricating his hands from hers and making to get to his feet. "I'm going to make some coffee. Do you want some?"

"You look like you could do with something stronger," she says, a small smile on her lips.

"Probably," Oliver admits, "but I feel bad enough taking Ray's jet - I don't want to add to that by drinking his scotch."

She gets up. "Well, I don't know about scotch, but… Give me a second." Pulling back the curtain, she reaches for her bag in one of the spacious compartments in the jet, and after some rummaging, she pulls out a bottle of vodka that is about a quarter full.

When she returns to Oliver, he raises his eyebrows.

"I was wondering where that got to," he says.

"I kept it when we were wiping down the foundry for prints," she confesses. "I don't know why I brought it along - but I had a feeling I could use a drink. Looks like you could too."

He smiles back. "I'm glad you kept it."

"Some of my favourite memories with you are when we were drinking together," she admits, and the candour of her words feels refreshing. "At my place, in the foundry."

"They're good memories," he agrees, just as Felicity opens the bottle and takes a sip. She shudders at the potent taste, but at the same time, she welcomes the rush of alcohol in her throat.

"Sorry. I didn't get glasses," she says, but Oliver instead extends his hand to her, and she hands him the bottle before sitting down opposite him. Their knees are touching again, and she watches as he follows suit and sips straight from the bottle.

Just like her.

"I needed that," he says after a few seconds, handing the bottle back to her. She accepts it, but her hand shakes a little when he reaches forward and covers her legs with the blanket so they are now sharing it.

"So did I," she says, smiling back.

Neither of them says much more, but they don't have to. They continue to drink from the bottle, passing it between them, fingers brushing occasionally, their legs touching beneath the blanket they share that traps their combined body heat and keeps the warmth between them.


End file.
